


I Am Not Your Savior

by Safiyabat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 15:04:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1161101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Safiyabat/pseuds/Safiyabat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam gets some work done in Albuquerque after working with Castiel to remove the leftover grace from his body.  Set between "First Born" and "Sharp Teeth."</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Am Not Your Savior

**Author's Note:**

> In "Sharp Teeth" Sam mentioned that he went to Wisconsin from New Mexico. This is my version of what he was doing there. Mild spoilers for season 9. Drug use is mentioned so if this is triggering for you, uh, I guess this is your warning?
> 
> Supernatural and the characters from the show are not my property. I make no money from this or any other work of fan fiction.

Sam moved quietly through the alley, the angel blade gripped loosely in his hand. Dean would lose his mind if he knew that Sam was angel hunting on his own. He’d probably lose his mind if he knew that Sam was angel hunting at all, but angel hunting alone was probably not the smartest thing in the world. Of course if Dean hadn’t taken off he wouldn’t have to hunt angels by himself now would he? What did the jackass think he was going to spend his time doing, playing Parcheesi wrapped up in wool in the damn bunker? Part of his mind – the part that usually spun its wheels on self-doubt or remorse or self-recriminations – idly wondered how the damn thing fit his giant hands. They all looked roughly the same, and honestly when they collected them from dead angels there wasn’t much of a difference between them. His mother had picked up an angel blade when they’d gone time-tripping back to 1979 and she’d had beautiful, perfect, tiny little hands. He could pick up that same angel blade and it would fit just as perfectly in his giant monster hands. It should have been like a toothpick for him. Was it just one of those angelic mysteries he’d have to accept? Or was it something he could eventually pick apart and decipher? 

The rest of him focused on his target. The man faced another man but the match laughed at the concept of equality. Sam’s target loomed, even though he was about the same height as his opponent, and the air around him crackled with electricity. He raised a hand and the other man – skinny past the point of health and unshaven – flew back into the wall of the nearest building. A few syringes popped out of his pocket and onto the ground. He stared with wide brown eyes and gasped for air with shallow breaths. “You have no value here,” the first man sneered. His rumpled suit suggested Heaven’s establishment but that wasn’t a guarantee. “I require a new vessel. You will say yes.” 

Right. Sam moved faster. “I don’t understand,” the junkie stammered. As Sam got closer he could see that the wall looked a little bloody. Winged Dick Number 353 had probably given him a concussion. Not a bad one, though, since he didn’t seem to be slurring his words. “What’s this about a vessel?”

“Your body, your soul, your mind. I need them all. It isn’t like you’re doing anything useful with them anyway.” 

The hunter felt his ire rise. “Shut your eyes!” he demanded, letting a little bit of the creature he was supposed to be seep into the voice to ensure compliance. As he drove the weapon into the angel’s brain – up from the bottom, straight through – he slammed his own eyelids shut and turned his face away. 

He could feel the angel die. Cas hadn’t extracted all of Gadreel’s leavings after all. He felt the bile rise in his stomach – he’d expected that, actually, but the thought of any part of the evil angel still inside of him still made him want to fill his entire being with bleach. At least it provided him with some useful information right now though. He knew when he could open his eyes. He wiped the blade clean on the dead angel’s suit, noting as he did the sores on the vessel’s face and neck. He’d been burning out, not unlike poor Nick. He choked down on his bile for the second time in a minute. He had other things to worry about, other people. 

He hid the angel blade in his jacket and approached the junkie, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, man,” he told him softly. “You can open your eyes now.” 

The other man blinked slowly and looked up at him. “What the hell was that?” he demanded.

“That,” Sam told him, “was an angel. Come on, grab your stuff. Anything with your DNA on it. The cops will find his body and I’m pretty sure that you don’t want any part of the investigation.” 

The guy moved on autopilot as soon as Sam said “cops.” “An angel? Are you kidding me?”

“I wish.” He gave a little chuckle. “He didn’t exactly live up to the press, did he? Do you have a name you like to go by?”

“M-Mike.”

“Hi, Mike. I’m Sam. I’m sure you’ve got a lot of questions about what you just saw and I’m happy to answer them. I just want to do it far away from him, okay?” 

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” He paused. “Are you an angel too?” 

Sam bit back a harsh laugh. “Pretty far from it.” He glanced around the alleyway. It looked like Mike had done a decent job of cleaning himself out of the place. Sam’s practiced eye could see no evidence, other than the blood on the wall. “You got some paper towels or something?” he asked his companion. When the man passed him some doughnut-shop napkins he made do and scrubbed the small amount of blood off the wall, then burned the napkin. It would have to do. “Your DNA on file somewhere?” 

“Yeah…”

“Crap. Okay… Uh, well, I don’t have anything on me right now that will be more thorough.” He reached into the dead angel’s pocket and withdrew the wallet. “Come on, I’m pretty sure that I saw a twenty-four hour diner about six blocks that way, not too far from the bus station. We’ll talk there.” 

Mike walked with him – not behind him, but not in front of him either. “So you just … iced that dude.”

“Yeah.”

“And now you want to go have coffee.”

“Um… yeah?” 

“With me.” 

“I don’t think I got anything on me, did I?” 

Mike shook his head. “No, man. You’re good.”

They stayed silent for the six-block walk over to the diner. Sam hated this stuff. Once upon a time he’d been good at dealing with people, better even than Dean at dealing with civilians. Hell had changed all that. Maybe it had changed before that. Maybe it had changed when he’d yielded to the taint inside him, when he’d given into Ruby in his desperation. Maybe it had been when he’d been desperate to keep Dean from going to Hell. Now it was just… difficult. It was difficult and it wasn’t fun. 

But it had to be done. What else was he supposed to do, waste this innocent civilian who’d had the misfortune to be selected as an angelic vessel? No. Someone had to explain to Mike what had happened, and at the moment the only person available was Sam. So they went to the diner. Sam told Mike to order whatever he wanted, the dead guy was paying. For his part he just got a salad; he wasn’t sure he could even stomach that but he didn’t want to make Mike feel self-conscious. The guy took him at his word and ordered both a breakfast and a lunch to beat the band; like a lot of things, it reminded Sam of Dean.

Once their food was delivered Sam looked at Mike. “All right. What do you want to know?”

“So that guy was an angel.”

“Yes. A few months ago the angels were expelled from Heaven and now they’re stuck here with the rest of us.” He poked at the vaguely wilted leaves of his salad. How was it possible for iceberg lettuce to wilt? He could almost hear Dean mocking him now. _“There’s no sorry soggy lettuce on a good burger, Sammy.”_ Of course, Dean wasn’t hear and he didn’t give a good goddamn what Dean thought about his meal choices, thank you very much.

“What was it that he wanted with me?” Mike’s leg bounced up and down under the table, unable to keep still. 

Sam sighed. “”Yeah. So, angels aren’t really like us. In their true form they’re just… light. A ‘multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent,’ is how one of them puts it.”

“So you know a lot of them?”

“More of them than I’d like.” 

“And you go around killing them.” 

Sam laughed a little. “Not as many as I’d like,” he admitted. “I haven’t had the best experiences with them. Anyway, if they want to operate on our plane of existence they need a physical body. In order to get one they have to possess a human.” 

“Wait, like possession? Like… like demons and stuff?”

Sam nodded. “It’s a lot like that. Here’s the difference. A demon doesn’t need permission. A demon takes what it wants and doesn’t pretend you wanted it. An angel needs ‘consent,’ but how it defines consent is tricky. I’ve known angels who took it very seriously, who wanted a true partnership and even affection with their vessels. As long as things were going well anyway,” he added, and he didn’t care how bitter he sounded. “And I’ve known angels who have been willing to torture their way into getting a vessel to say yes just to make the hurting stop. I’ve known angels who’ve been willing to threaten a vessel’s family until the vessel said yes. And I’ve known angels who were willing to outright lie so that the vessel didn’t know that they were saying yes to possession at all.”

“That’s not consent,” Mike frowned. Funny how this stranger, this guy he’d literally met on a random street, had a better idea about consent than most angels. Or his brother. 

“Yeah. No. But it’s close enough that the angel can take control of the victim, and then it’s no different from a demon.” 

“So demons are real.”

“If you’ve heard of it it’s probably real, Mike.”

“Have you… met…. these other things?” He turned pale.

“A lot of them. There are probably still plenty of other creatures out there that I haven’t seen. I was raised to hunt them, but not everything needs to be killed. Not everything is evil, you know? I try not to kill things that aren’t harming humans.”

“And you killed the angel…”

“He was trying to compel you to say yes. To make you into a vessel.”

“Me? But I’m… 

“ Sam met his eyes squarely. “You’re what, Mike?”

“I’m just a junkie. He was an angel.”

“So?” He smiled gently. “Look. First of all, did you not hear what he was saying to you? He didn’t care about what you were putting into your body. An angel can’t be poisoned, it can’t get high, it can’t get drunk. It can heal whatever damage you’ve done to yourself or whatever diseases you’ve caught once it gets in there. The thing is, though, you wouldn’t be you. You couldn’t be in control of yourself.” 

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“Yes. Yes it is.” Sam took a bite of his salad, mostly so he didn’t have to speak for a moment. “Mike, I’ve been possessed. Two angels, two demons. When you’re possessed you have no say in what happens to you. Nothing. I watched the angel possessing me beat my brother near to death with my hands while I could do nothing. They can erase your memories. There were hours and hours that just disappeared, and I only found out later what the angel possessing me did. Like murder part of my family. The rifle through your brain like… like filing cabinets. You’re not using because you’re thrilled with everything in your life, Mike. Well, when the angel possesses you he will lock you down in the deepest darkest recesses of your brain – everything you use to hide from. “If you think it’s a good idea, that’s fine. It’s your choice. I am the last person to make a choice for you, the absolute last. But you should make that choice yourself and you should make it sober and from your own free will. Not because someone throws you into a wall and tells you’re worthless until you give in.” 

Mike thought about it. “But… I still don’t get it. Why me? I’m still a junkie. I’ve done stuff… isn’t my body too dirty to want to go near?”

“They don’t care, man. If I’m not too tainted to be used, you’re just fine.” Now the salad just tasted like ash and he pushed it away. “It’s not a ‘purity’ thing for them. It’s a bloodline thing. Some people can physically handle housing an angel. Some people can handle it temporarily and some people can’t handle it at all, like ever. You saw how the guy’s face was all burned and sore? Well, his body couldn’t handle that particular angel. It was burning him out.” 

“Would he have burned me out?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t know if there’s a way to check. I’m kind of unwilling to do a lot of experimentation, you know?”

“What about you?”

“I don’t think there’s any angel I can’t physically hold. And they know it.”

“But they left you.”

He laughed, for real this time. “I kicked the last one out.”

“You can do that?” 

“I’m the only one I know of who has,” he admitted, and that actually felt pretty good. Screw Dean and his lack of faith, anyway. He sipped his coffee. “He didn’t expect that. He should have, considering what happened with the first one.” He caught Mike’s eyes again. “You know, people hear ‘addict’ and they think that’s all you’ve ever done, it’s all you’re capable of. Pretty soon you start to believe it yourself. But you know what? I’m more than just the time I fucked up.”

One corner of Mike’s mouth twitched into something that kind of looked like a smile. “How long have you been clean?” 

Sam paused. It was hard to say for sure, because he wasn’t sure how to count Cage time or even if it counted at all. “Maybe four years? I relapsed a couple of times. It happens.”

“You still think about it?” “Do I still get cravings? Sometimes, sure. I fight them. I’m not going to tell you it’s easy or anything stupid like that. I try to remember what happens if I slip and everything.” You know, like the end of the world. “You thinking about getting clean?”

“Are you going to tell me I have to?”

“Nope.” 

Mike blinked. “Really? ”

“You know it’s not healthy. If your DNA’s on file somewhere you’ve probably done time, so you know it’s illegal and you’ve probably been through at least one unpleasant detox, am I right?” When Mike nodded, looking away, Sam swallowed. “Look, Mike, I’ve been there too. When my brother figured out what I was into he kidnapped me, locked me in a basement and made me go cold turkey.” 

“Seriously? Isn’t that kind of dangerous?” Mike blinked.

“You think? He didn’t much care at the time. Still doesn’t.” Sam remembered the panic room like it was yesterday. Thousands of years in the Cage and he still remembered every detail of the panic room. Always for your own good, Sammy. Panic room, angels stuffed into your meat suit, mutilated souls crammed down your gullet. “I got out. My point is, when you’re ready to get clean you’ll get clean. No one else can make you do it and I’m not here to judge you. I’m here to warn you that what you put into your body isn’t necessarily a barrier to angels who might want to use you as a meat suit. “

“And now you kill angels.”

He laughed. “Yeah. Now I kill angels. Among other things.”

“Have you done time?” 

The hunter almost choked on his coffee. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve done time. I try not to think about it.”

“How do you find work? I mean, it’s not like anyone wants to hire someone with a record.”

“Um, in case you hadn’t noticed, I stab angels in the brain. It’s not exactly the kind of job where a record is a deal breaker.” They shared a laugh. “How long have you been trying to find work?” 

“I’ve been out for I think three months this time. I don’t want to go back, you know? I just don’t know what else I can do anymore.” 

“I know that feeling. You on parole?” At what point had Sam become a sobriety counselor? He was so not the one to offer advice to anyone. What worked for you? Well, five thousand years in a cage with two angry archangels was a good start. Except that hadn’t been what had given him the confidence to try. It had been one other recovering addict who hadn’t judged him. Dean would scoff. Dean would sneer and turn up his nose. Sam was not Dean. 

“No. Straight release.”

“Well, that’s something, anyway. What is it that you want to do?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t even know what I can do anymore, you know?” 

“All right. Well, the most important thing is protecting yourself from possession. How do you feel about tattoos?”

“I’ve got a few, why?”

Sam grabbed a napkin and pulled a pen out of his pocket. “All right. I’m going to draw something for you. It’s a design I worked out with a friend of mine about a week ago. It should keep the angels from noticing you while keeping the demons out, okay? You bring it to a place you trust and you get it done as soon as you can. It’s not foolproof – the tattoo can be burned off, my first one was – but it’s something.” He spoke as he drew, making another sketch on the napkin. “All right. This one here? It banishes all angels in your immediate area. The only thing is that it has to be drawn in human blood. You draw it, you smack your bloody hand on it and poof – no more angels. This one here? It’s a devil’s trap. Paint it on rugs or towels or whatever and put them in front of the doors and windows to your apartment or whatever. Demons get stuck, won’t be able to get out. That should buy you some time to run away.”

Mike took the napkin. “Why are you telling me all this?”

Why was he telling Mike all of this? “Because you know now. You can’t… un-know. And because you’re capable of holding an angel at least for a little while, there’s always a chance that an angel will come along again. I want you to be able to protect yourself. I’d like to be able to tell you that this angel thing is temporary, but I don’t know that for sure. I’d rather that you were able to protect yourself than trust that you were just going to be lucky for the rest of your life.” 

The man’s mouth quirked up again. “You think I’m more than just the times I fucked up.” 

“I know you are. If I am, then you sure as hell are. I’m not always going to be around, Mike. It’s just luck that I was around tonight, looking for someone else.”

“Who were you looking for?” He shrugged and pulled out his phone. He’d drawn the sketch from memory, scanning it once he finished it. “I don’t know that this is the vessel he’s currently using,” he admitted. “It’s how I saw him when I kicked him out of my head. He’s a really bad angel and I need to track him down. I don’t suppose you’ve seen anyone that looks like this?” 

“Yeah, yeah. I saw him about a week ago. He was talking to a short guy down at Bridgewater’s – that’s a bar downtown. He said that they needed to get out of town before Sam Winchester found them.” 

Maybe Gadreel was smarter than he thought. “Damn it. Well, at least he was around here. Any idea where he was heading?”

“No, sorry.”

Sam’s phone rang. It was Castiel. “Excuse me, sorry. I’ve got to take this.” Mike nodded. “Hey, Cas. What’s up?” 

“Corn prices in Lima. Does this seem reasonable?” 

He sighed. “Castiel…”

“Apologies. I received an automated message on the computer for you about a John Doe in Wisconsin. It fits the search algorithm you set up for the one you called Garth. He appears to be comatose in a hospital. Have you had any luck finding Gadreel?”

“He was here about a week ago, but he took off.”

“I shall pursue other leads.”

“All right. Stay safe and call if you need anything, okay?” 

“You as well, Sam.” 

They hung up and he turned to his dining companion. “Looks like I need to make a bit of a detour. “Look, you’ve been a big help, Mike.”

“I told you that the guy you’re looking for is gone. I didn’t actually do anything.” 

“You let me give you the information about how to protect yourself. It made me feel more useful than I’ve felt in years. Literally.” He grabbed the dead guy’s wallet and pulled out all the cash. “Here. I’ll get rid of the cards and the wallet and everything far away from here, but you should take the cash, you should get something for almost getting your eyes burned out and everything. Put it toward that tattoo.” On a hunch, he wrote down the address of the bar in Garber. “If and when you decide that you’re ready to get clean, these folks are good people and they get second chances. Ask for Lindsey. And if you meet her, tell her Keith’s still here. She’ll know what you’re talking about.”

“Even if I don’t?” 

Sam huffed. “Yeah. I need to get going. Life and death, you know. Hopefully more of the former than the latter. Good luck, man.” Sam paid the bill and left, looking at a twenty-four hour drive.

_Two months later_

Mike looked at the bar. It didn’t look like much, but then again, what exactly did he expect? He was looking for a second chance, not a sinecure. The most important thing about this place was the sign in the window that said “Busboy Wanted.” He steeled himself, opened the door and went inside. 

There was a blonde behind the bar putting away glasses. She was pretty and gave him a friendly enough look. “Hi,” she greeted. “Can I help you?” 

“I’m Mike,” he said, taking off his hat. “I’m here about the job in the window. A-are you Lindsey?” 

She frowned. “Yes…”

“Keith said to tell you he’s still here? I don’t know what that means.” 

Much to his surprise the blonde actually broke down into tears. “I’m sorry,” he frowned. He should have known it was too good to be true. “I’ll leave.”

“Don’t you dare!” she told him, rushing around the bar and taking a chair off the table. “Sit, please. Sit down and tell me how you saw Keith – Sam – after all these years. Is he… is he okay?”

“He saved my life, ma’am, and that’s a fact,” he told her. 

“Mine too,” she smiled. “Mine too.”


End file.
